


Depths

by Beastthemaestro



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, mermaid au, not sure what else to tag lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastthemaestro/pseuds/Beastthemaestro
Summary: Working for this strange company was starting to wear on Waylon. Sure, the pay would be good, but all he wants to do is lounge on the shore and let his worries get dragged away with the retreating tides. A tip from a local leads him to a secluded area of shoreline. It seems like the answer to his prayers.
Relationships: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park
Comments: 38
Kudos: 108





	1. Interruption

The end was almost in sight. Waylon had been working for Murkoff for the past four months, tasked with programming a machine that, in all honesty, he hadn’t known much about in the beginning. 

Even now, months into its programming, the true purpose of it eluded him. As far as he knew, the machine was truly built for the sake of conservancy, in an effort to boost populations of rare and endangered species. Waylon felt like there was just too much code for it to be that cut and dry. It was all too complex. The machine was a fickle beast to tame and domesticate, but he only had to deal with it for another few months.

Staring at a computer monitor was part of his job, and countless hours had been spent reading and rereading the program he had made. Waylon worked through bug after bug, correcting conflicts in values, and he could have sworn that after a long day behind the screen, lines of code had been engraved on the backs of his eyelids, waiting to be corrected and finished with every blink.

This profession put a tremendous amount of strain on his eyes, but honestly, it wasn’t all that bad. Waylon felt best in front of a computer anyway, that was where he was the most confident.

Mondays were his day off. More accurately speaking, he had the day to himself unless he was called into the office by his boss, which always seemed to happen on days when he wasn’t supposed to be working. It was annoying, but all it meant in the end was that Waylon would have that much more money in his pocket at the end of all of this.

Just two more months and then he was free to go. Free to return to his old life and leave this quiet little beach side town. Leave all of the warm sand and adorable little nautical themed shops. He could go back to the noisy, crowded confines of the city.

Waylon sighed. Driving through town as he allowed himself the luxury of getting lost in thought. This little excursion was to try and help him clear his head, not muddle it further. It was pointless to hold back the thoughts. He loved it here and he would miss it after he left.

All of his friends were back in California, but this place was perfect. The locals were friendly, the houses were adorable, and everything was relaxed, so unlike the hustle and bustle of the city he lived in. This was the kind of place that Waylon wanted to call home.

He had to cherish his last few months here if he was ever going to be okay with leaving it behind.

Turning off onto a side street, Waylon noted how empty it was, on the right side of the street was an open field with nothing but a few trees and picnic tables scattered about, though there wasn’t much to look at around them. On the left was a thicket of trees that lined the entire sidewalk to the end of the road.

Leaning towards the steering wheel, he tried to get a better view of his surroundings. He was looking for a trail.

While having breakfast at the local diner, the owner had been not-so-discreetly eavesdropping on Waylon’s phone conversation with Miles. 

At the time, Waylon had been lamenting to his friend about how the beaches were so packed that after months of searching for a good spot on the beach, he decided to just give up, it was a fruitless venture. 

Once the call had finished, the man behind the counter busied himself with refilling Waylon's empty mug when he spoke up. "Hey stranger, I know a place that you might like!"

He had given Waylon directions and assured him it was a little slice of heaven. 

It was an area of beach that was too rocky to fish in at most parts. Swimming was an option, but he made a point of telling Waylon to take care around the rocks that gathered just past the water’s edge before the crags smoothed out into sand. He had described the rock formation as looking like the ruins of an old abandoned house. An odd way to sell this 'slice of heaven' in hindsight, but Waylon wasn't about to shut the topic down yet. 

The owner continued on and told him that it was perfect if you just wanted some peace and quiet, and to be undisturbed by the locals and tourists alike. That was what Waylon wanted to hear.

Waylon parked his car and turned it off, the radio going quiet with it. Just as the silence began to settle in, his phone started to ring. 

**_Oh, come on..._ **

Groaning through gritted teeth, he worried that he’d have to abandon his plans and go to work after all. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, and looked at the screen hesitantly.

An incoming call from Miles Upshur.

Waylon rolled his eyes and answered it, trying his best to hold back a smile. Before he could form any sort of greeting, his friend piped up.

“Waylon! Long time no speak! How’s your job and stuff going, man?” Miles’ cheerful voice inquired.

“Wha-” The man sputtered through a laugh, “You know you talked to me yesterday, right? You know exactly how this is going.”

“Well, maybe I worry! You’re however many miles away, working for some royal douchebag whose company name sounds like a villain from a Bond movie!” He ranted. Waylon could only imagine that he had his arms crossed over his chest like a child. “Does it make me a criminal because I wanna stay updated on my best friend's life?”

“Whoa, mom. Take it easy, everything's fine here,” Waylon scoffed, but smiled amusedly, “If anything was wrong,” He spoke, turning to grab his bag and his camera, “You’d be the first to know about it.”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” his friend scoffed, “Anyway, Mr. Park, I’ll have you know that things have been thrown out of whack without you here, and I’m like… ninety-five percent sure that our place is haunted now.”

“Sure,” He shook his head, climbing out of the car after making sure he had everything with him, “Our apartment has a ghost infestation and I’ve got a hot date with bigfoot tonight.” Waylon teased, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he walked.

“Listen, man, I’m serious!” Miles practically whined.

“Then tell me why you think our apartment is haunted, MIles.” He stuck to one side of the cracked and narrow sidewalk, surveying the area around him. “Please, enlighten me.”

“I hear footsteps above me everytime I’m trying to go to sleep and-”

“There’s a couple who have their first baby above us, Miles, I think their room is above yours.” Waylon interrupted. "Try harder." 

He knew that his friend was reaching for _something_ , but he couldn’t exactly figure out what that something was. He continued forward, abandoning the pavement for a dirt path that veered off to the left of the street and into the woods. 

Waylon looked around, trying to remember what the man at the diner had told him. _There's a dirt path through the trees that you gotta follow, and when you get to the fork take the left path. I think the one on the right takes you to an old factory lookin' thing… But anyway, once you’re on that, you’ll be smelling the sea in no time!_ That’s what he had told Waylon. He wondered how long he would have to follow-

“Stuff keeps banging around in the cabinets even though I’ll be in the living room or something!” He bellowed into the receiver, knocking Waylon from his thoughts. 

He cringed as he drew the phone from his ear only to return it after taking a second to collect himself. “Okay, Miles, we’ve talked about that before,” He rubbed his face in frustration, “That banging happens because you don’t stack the dishes the right way and they fall over. That’s not ghosts, that’s you.” Waylon wanted to look at the world around him, but his eyes settled on the ground as he walked, not wanting to trip over a rock or an exposed root.

“Uhm…” Miles needed a moment to think about exactly what the ghosts were doing to their apartment, and in his momentary silence, Waylon heard it. The sound of a turn signal. The soft hum of acceleration. “My clothes keep disappearing and the salt and pepper shakers keep getting thrown across the kitchen.”

“Yeah, uh, Miles, where are you right now?” Waylon furrowed his brows and stopped dead in his tracks, awaiting his friend's response.

“I’m at home trying to cleanse everything with sage so the ghosts don’t get me! Man, it’s scary here, I might have to come down and stay with you until-”

“Oh no-” Waylon interrupted, deciding to continue on down the path, “Turn your car around, Miles! We are not having a repeat of Point Pleasant!”

“Aw, come on, Way!" His friend whined, "That was a great plan and you know it! It just figured that your boss didn’t understand the sacred art of cryptid hunting.”

“Miles, you brought the leg lamp from A Christmas Story and a box of mostly live moths into his office and released them.” He recalled flatly, stopping to look down both paths when he finally reached the fork.

“Waylon, it was to test him! Have I taught you nothing after all these years? If he was Mothman, he’d be drawn to the light from the lamp and the box of moths was to make him feel more at home, y’know? Closer to his family and all!” Miles sounded like he could be joking, but Waylon couldn’t hear a smile in his words, which had stopped being alarming years ago. Either his friend was really good at acting crazy or… well, maybe he was actually just crazy.

Waylon tried to form a rational thought to argue, but was so dumbfounded that all he could manage was a few syllables before he gave up entirely. “Miles. Turn your car around and go home. I’ll talk to you later.”

Miles tried to protest, but Waylon cut him short and hung up, slipping the device into his bag. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. He sighed and let his shoulders relax, taking a moment to absorb the world around him. 

Waylon thought for a moment about how strange this all was. The guy at the diner had spoken about this patch of shoreline like he was giving Waylon a treasure map, but if it was as nice as he made it sound, then why did the locals stay away from it? Perhaps it was the rocks. He would have to make a point of asking in the future.

Every thought in his head was silenced the minute he inhaled. The smell of the ocean cradled by the breeze was luring him happily to the shoreline, the same way a siren’s song dragged bewitched sailors to the ocean’s depths. It was intoxicating.

Walking further forward down the path, Waylon could hear it. The crashing of waves against soft sand, the swift retreat of the ocean’s reach, an endless cycle of give and take. The prospect of being so close to something that sounded so beautiful made him pick up his pace. He needed to see it.

Up the final hill in his path, the trees gave way to clear blue skies, and Waylon made his way to the edge of the forest, where the dirt path finally met the sand. Eagerly tugging off his sandals, he looked at the ground, a sharp line of shadow having been drawn by the trees overhead. The man smiled and stepped out into the sun’s heat, giving himself a moment to take in the view.

He was not disappointed. The sun leapt across the ocean’s surface with an elegance that could only be achieved by centuries of mastering the art of this dance. The waves came to a peak only to crest and diffuse against the sturdiness of the shore like a knight fresh from battle kneeling before a queen at her throne. The sand was freckled with shells, but it was clear of any litter or evidence that another human had ever been there. If Waylon hadn’t known any better, he would have assumed that he was the first to venture through this uncharted territory. He wished that he could claim this spot as his own, but for now, relaxing within its comfort would suffice.

Waylon walked to the edge of the water, where wet sand met dry, his mind wandering back to his conversation with Miles. Was he really on his way here? It would take him quite some time to reach the area by car, but Mr. Upshur wasn’t a fan of planes, so that was out of the question.

As his friend has done before, he would undoubtedly wind up on Waylon’s doorstep in a few days time. Miles, somehow, always knew how to find him. At least he had his first few months here alone.

The man reached into his bag and took out his towel, unfolding it and straightening it out in one quick motion. He lowered it to the ground and fixed the edges before seating himself at one end, his feet resting in the gentle hold of the warm sand.

Waylon had never been very good at photography, but he liked to capture beautiful moments whenever he could. He retrieved his camera from its pack for just such an occasion, pressing the power button. The machine responded with a lively chirp and he raised the viewfinder to his eye, focussing it on the sea. There were few clouds in the sky, but the ones that were there framed the radiance of the sun as if it were a work of art hanging in a museum. Even the rocks jutting out of the water held some level of beauty in that moment, it truly felt as though this view had been painted specifically for him and him alone.

As a wave began to crest, Waylon steadied his hands and pressed the shutter release. The camera gave a mechanical click and he lowered it after a moment to inspect his handiwork. He smiled, like a fisherman inspecting the specimen at the end of their line, he was proud of his catch .The moment was no less impressive in this digital form.

Placing his camera back into its pack and out of the sun’s heat, Waylon layed back on his towel with a rather vocal sigh. The way the breeze moved the sun rays across his tanned skin made him feel like gentle, warm hands were working to massage his stress away. He could absolutely get used to this.

After a good while of basking in the sun, Waylon stood up and wandered down to the water’s edge.

He took a step into the water as a wave crashed before him, it’s cold grasp tugging him by the ankles and coaxing him out further, step by step. When the water reached his knees, he stopped to give himself a moment or two to overcome the initial chill that came with the rise and fall of the waves. The cold water rushed up to his thighs and he cringed, a strangled whine leaving his throat.

Waylon took a deep breath and ventured further.

Being mindful of the cold, slick stones beneath his feet, he stepped out, having to steady himself on a rock that protruded from the depths. It did little to help him as a wave came and knocked his footing loose, the rocks beneath him shifting and sliding against each other from the ocean’s pull. He gave a startled, “Whoa-” and fell deeper into the water, just past the rocks. 

Waylon caught himself before he was completely submerged and took a moment to collect himself.

If these rocks were supposed to resemble a house, then he had just tiptoed through the entire thing only to stumble and be thrown right out the back door and into the endlessly sprawling hills of the backyard.

He knew it was silly, but without the stones around him, he felt oddly exposed. He had nowhere to hide. Open on all sides, there was nothing to separate him from whatever creatures lurked in these waters. If anything happened he realized, he would be completely alone.

**Stop being such a baby, Waylon… nothing’s going to happen. You’re fine.** He tried telling himself, but being in the water felt wrong now.

Waylon felt like he was being watched.

He looked around quickly, first to the water around him and then spun around to check the land.

Nothing.

The man swallowed thickly and turned to head back to the rocks, but something caught his eye. A flash of something behind one of the rocks to his right. It was pale. He did a double take, but whatever it was was no longer there. 

Perhaps the spy had fled, but something told him that if there was actually something there, it hadn’t left yet. There was no sound of an escape.

“Hello?” Waylon called.

No response.

This all felt so strange, but he persisted nonetheless, wading through the water and into the craggy, but oddly secure, confines of the rocks. He kept an eye on his target, it was one of the larger stones that rested at the edge of the rocky enclosure. There was no sign of movement and no sound either. Miles may have been proud if he saw Waylon right now. He felt like he was chasing a ghost.

“Anybody there?” He tried again, leaning from side to side in an attempt to get a peek behind the boulder.

The closer Waylon got to it, the more uneasy he felt. His hands and legs were tingling apprehensively, his body giving him every signal to stop what he was doing, to just turn around and go back to his towel.

Waylon leaned forward to press his hands to the stone, trying to angle his body to see around it. Whatever it was was just behind this cold stone. 

Waylon yelped and jerked away as his phone’s ringer blared urgently from his bag. His muscles tightened uncomfortably beneath his skin. The anxiety had come and gone in an instant and it left him feeling like he had white noise pulsing through his veins.

He took a deep breath and stepped back, eyeing up the rock.

“Shit,” he grumbled, abandoning his hope of seeing what, if anything, was there. The man turned and trudged closer to the shore, no longer caring if his steps were clumsy.

_Splash._

Waylon whirled around at the sound behind him, only to see a burst of ripples and a few remaining droplets reconnect with the rest of the water. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach.

Something _had_ been there. It _had_ been watching him.

He let out a trembling breath and turned tail, scrambling through the water and up onto the shore.

The only time he turned around again was when he was at his towel.

There was nothing there now, but he still felt eyes on him. But from where? Waylon didn't know and that frightened him.

He grabbed his things and made a quick exit, back into the woods and down the path he had used earlier. Once he was on the sidewalk again, he allowed himself to breath. He took out his phone and checked the screen.

Missed call from Jeremy Blaire.

Waylon sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging at the implication of the missed call.

The day had turned into such a disaster in a matter of hours.

He walked the short distance back to his car slowly, only returning the call once he was in the driver’s seat with the doors closed and locked around him.

Waylon didn’t know what was behind that rock, but he did know that there _was_ something. He needed to have a few words with the man at the diner again, because he definitely had some questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im suuuper nervous to post this since its the first thing I've written in just about five years, so I know it's got a bunch of things that need to be improved lmao. Honestly, Ive never been that good at writing, but I figured I'd give it a shot with this au ;u; <3 <3 <3
> 
> I hope yall like it! Feedback is much appreciated!! \\( ; u ; )/ <3
> 
> (Also as a side-note, I've got thalassophobia and am a huge selachophobe, so if updates are slow thats probably why lmao <3)


	2. Contact

What Waylon had seen was as much a mystery then as it was now.

The questions he had were boring holes in his mind like carpenter bees, hard at work to build a nest and breed.

As he had figured would happen, Waylon’s boss called him. And of course, Waylon was needed at work. He had to stop at home before leaving, his skin smelled of panic and salt and washing himself was a necessity.

His commute offered him nothing in the way of comfort. Perhaps once he assumed his role behind the computer monitor he could bury himself far enough under the lines of code, that he could stop thinking.

The silence in his car had started to become unbearable mere minutes after sitting himself down again, so Waylon decided to switch on the radio. It was pointless. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the music, there were gaps. Gaps between drum beats, the singer pausing to inhale, the end of a guitar riff; gaps that were just long enough for his mind to fill in the emptiness. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he had seen, or what he had not seen.

What was it?

Was it a person?

Why were they there?

Why were they watching him?

He drove to work in a daze and after maybe twenty minutes, he found himself pulling into the parking lot. He was amazed that he had made it without incident. He had been so deep into his own mind that his body had been running on autopilot. 

Murkoff’s building was dark and foreboding, a stark contrast to the town that resided around it. It truly looked as though it had been plucked from a horror film and dropped right on the ocean’s edge, perhaps in a failed attempt to dispose of it. 

If it were any other time of day, Waylon might have assumed that the place was haunted or that some demented creature may prowl within its halls, preying on whatever poor souls wander into the depths. A silly idea, maybe, but the place wasn’t exactly welcoming.

As he parked, he thought about the pure enormity of it. The sheer mass was impressive, but Waylon realized that he had only seen a small chunk. There were, without a doubt, floors upon floors that he may never see in the remainder of his time here. It made him wonder; why was such an excessive building required? Waylon didn’t know the entire process of housing, caring for, and maintaining endangered species, but this was certainly too much. It had to be.

Waylon broke himself from his train of thought and reached into the backseat to retrieve his laptop bag. A poor decision to leave it in the car, but he felt it was justified when he could be called in at any time. It was purely for the sake of convenience. He tucked his camera into the glove box before climbing out of the car and heading towards the entrance.

Walking up to the main doors, he rummaged through the contents of his bag. There was little to nothing else in there other than his laptop and some small sticky-notes, but in a side pocket, he found his keycard. A red light just above the scanner letting anyone who wanted entry know that the door was locked. He held his card up to let the scanner process it and after a moment, it responded with a short, flat beep. The light remained red.

Waylon’s brows furrowed, “Oh, come on…” He groaned, letting his shoulders slump.

The building may have wanted to keep him out, but every second longer that he spent outside was time that he could have spent getting this over with.

So, he tried again, repeating the process only to receive that same, oddly infuriating, beep. Still, The light remained red. Out of either spite or determination, he tried a third time. And then a fourth. The outcome never changed.

Waylon scrubbed at his face in annoyance. This was just what his day needed.

Finally accepting defeat, he took out his phone, reluctantly dialing his boss’ number. His thumb moved faster than his brain, quickly pressing send before he could change his mind.

Every ring made his heart pound faster, then he heard a click.

"Park, where are you?" A man on the other end boomed. He was annoyed. "You should've been here five minutes ago."

Waylon floundered. This man always had the ability to make him question his own professionality, "Mr. Blaire, I got here on time, but-"

"But, what Park?" He interrupted, "What is it this time?"

"I-I…" He'd fallen into this trap before. His employer was by no means a very nice man, but he truly had a knack for making Waylon feel like a child facing a parent's disappointment. He steeled himself and forced the words from his throat. "Sir, the door won't open again, I'm stuck outside. I've been here for the past ten minutes trying to get my damn card to work on the scanner."

There was silence. It was short-lived, but there was silence.

"Again?" The man grumbled, "Christ, all right, I'll get someone to let you in." With that, Blaire hung up.

A relieved sigh left him the second the call ended.

**God, what an asshole…**

Blaire was a bully, but Waylon knew that if he faltered and gave him the chance to, his boss would rip him apart without a second thought.

Another five minutes passed before the door finally opened, and Waylon, who had been resting against the wall in wait, straightened up.

A security guard with a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips emerged, “Afternoon, Mr. Park! Forget your keys?” He chuckled, holding the door open, but not completely moving out of the way.

“Oh, yep, you got me.” Waylon offered dryly, having to turn a bit in order to not hit the guard as he made his way over the threshold. He didn’t want to stop long enough for the guard to catch up to him and attempt small-talk, so he bee-lined for the front desk.

He checked in and made his way to the elevators, straight through the main hall and down the corridor to the right.

The interior of Murkoff’s building was no different than what one might expect after seeing the outside. Dark wooden panels covered half the height of most walls, only to be met with the stark contrast of white wallpaper. The entire place was an oddity, but what Waylon found especially strange was the doors. They were everywhere, but he rarely saw them open unless someone was leaving or entering a room. The doors were always shut.

He wondered what was in all of those rooms.

Boarding the elevator, he found himself checking the corners for cameras. His nerves were frayed from his experience earlier, but the feeling of eyes watching his every move never faded. Waylon pressed the button for B2, the second level of basement that made itself at home in the bowels of the Murkoff building. 

One basement apparently wasn't good enough, this place had three. The first basement level was where the scientists normally worked, testing water and tissues samples of native aquatic species. The second level was where all of the technological bits were housed. Below that was B3, the lowest level of the building.

Waylon had never seen it, nor had he ever heard anyone but Blaire talk about it. He wondered about the possibilities of what was done there. Why did it feel like such a secret?

The elevator ride down was short enough, and the doors slid open to yet another hallway. Waylon stepped out and walked to the door at the end. He pushed it open. This room was the only one that he liked. This room was his to control, more or less.

Surrounded by countless towers and monitors, and so few people, he basked in the cool air, only present to keep every asset in the room from the possibility of overheating.

Waylon made his way to his desk, listening to the low, steady hum of the servers against the back wall. He felt safe here, oddly so.

There was no doubt in his mind that Blaire would make an appearance soon. Whenever his majesty felt it most convenient for himself, that is. The king was surely too comfortable in his throne to be bothered with welcoming guests into his abode.

The man sighed and sat himself back in his chair. With a swift grace, his hands set to work gliding across the keys of the computer before him. Waylon's gaze never left the screen and every so often, he'd need to remind himself to blink. 

His profession was one of accuracy in action. One misplaced strike to a key could lead to hours of revision in search for the cause of error.

He was in no mood, especially today, to make mistakes.

Waylon wished that his venture to the beach had been normal, one he enjoyed, but he felt as though his mood would be worse if Blaire dragged him away from that.

His mind focused again on the screen before him. Time flew by and after an hour of near complete silence, he found that most of what he had been called in to finish was just about done.

A firm hand clamped onto his shoulder was all it took to shatter his focus, taking his rhythm with it. Waylon yelped, the touch nearly sending him out of his chair and to his feet. If the desk had been just an inch closer, then he would almost definitely have matching bruises on his thighs by tomorrow morning. His chair spun halfway round slowly from his sudden upheaval.

His reaction sent whoever had touched him into a fit of laughter and Waylon whirled around to find none other than his employer.

“Jesus, Park,” Blaire spoke through hysterics that were slowly fading into chuckles, “Didn’t you hear me come in?”

Waylon did his best to swallow his anxiety quickly before it became anger. His boss was laughing at his expense. It was a _great_ feeling. “Mr. Blaire,” he stood up straight, allowing himself slow, deep breaths to calm his racing heart. “You didn’t knock or anything.”

“Did you forget I basically own the place?” He clicked his tongue, stepping closer to lean against the desk. Blaire took a deep breath as well, obviously trying to recover from his fit. “I don’t need to knock.”

 **Of course you don’t, jerk.**

Waylon sighed, “Right,” he mumbled and sat himself back down, needing to scoot his chair away from his boss. The man could certainly make an entrance, but once you knew he was there, he made sure that no one could ignore his presence. Blaire had planted himself so close to Waylon’s side that the man would need to tilt his head back to make eye contact. 

He moved his hands back to the keyboard, but now he had eyes on him, and that coupled with the odd angle from his new position had him making mistake after mistake. It was so aggravating.

“How’s the work comin’?” Blaire asked, crossing his arms over his chest, “Do we have any basic functionality yet?” There was no real curiosity to it, his boss didn't care how it was coming, his question was borne of impatience. He only cared about results

Waylon refused to give him the satisfaction of eye contact, “Just about. I just need to give a few more variables value and then you’re good to go.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He turned and bent over, returning his firm grip to Waylon’s shoulder as he watched the monitor. He stared, but didn’t understand much of what he was seeing, “See? I knew I made the right choice in hiring you, Park. You give me a good laugh and get the job done.” He chuckled.

It didn’t feel like a compliment. Or it didn’t feel like it was directed at Waylon, at least. It felt like Blaire was congratulating himself on a job well done.

“I aim to please,” Waylon struggled to finish his work with his boss so close to him, his presence was suffocating. He could hear his breath, but what worse was that he could almost _feel_ it. Every inhale drifting from his lungs, steady and constant.

Blaire gave a hum in response before straightening up again and turning to leave.

Waylon didn’t want to say anything more to prolong the experience. He just listened to where every footstep fell, landing farther and farther away from him until he heard the door close.

 **God, what a creep.** Waylon scrunched his nose in thought and busied himself once again, remedying any conflict or error that he came across.

Once he was finished, he saved his work and shut everything down before making a hasty retreat from the Murkoff’s building.

He was lucky enough to have finished before the sun set. Making his way through the parking lot, he basked in the fading warmth of the sun’s light.

The evening was here with night fast approaching, but Waylon didn’t want to go home yet. He got into his car and drove back toward the direction of the boardwalk. 

The main road was almost small enough to be a side street, but it was littered with crosswalks and traffic lights, turning the ten minute journey into a twenty-five minute chore.

Maybe now that it was later in the day, the beach would be less crowded. It was worth a look if it meant that Waylon could finally spend some time on the beach in comfort.

He found an empty spot surprisingly close to one of the boardwalks many entrances and claimed it, shutting the car off once it was adequately centered.

The sun was hanging low on the horizon and Waylon got out to wander onto the wooden path. He headed toward the beach with his hands in his pockets, following the sound of the ocean.

He got to the main strip of the walk and looked around. There were plenty of places to eat, stores full of nautical knick-knacks and shops to buy over-priced bathing suits and the like. Of course there were stall games, like darts, where a vendor yelled into their microphone, trying to coax passersby into yet another expensive activity. The beach stopped collecting admission fees after 5pm, though, so at least there was that. 

Waylon made his way across the path to the wooden steps that lead down onto the sand, but was surprised by how many people were still by the shoreline. It was packed.

"Hey, excuse me?" A woman's voice called to him from the boardwalk to his right, just above him.

Waylon jumped a bit, but looked up at her. The disappointment faded from his mind. The woman above him was beautiful. Her tanned olive skin was flecked with beauty marks. Her dark brown hair had been pulled back into a messy bun, masking its length, though a few wavy strands avoided capture to frame her rosy cheeks. 

"Uhm… Yes?" Waylon asked.

"Could you hand me that bottle over there, please?" She leaned over the wooden fencing and pointed straight down to the side of the path, among the vegetation and sand.

Waylon's brows rose a bit as he followed her reach to an empty, half crushed water bottle in the sand, "Oh, uh… sure." He carefully stepped around the plants and snatched it from its spot, holding it up in offering, "There's more stuff down here, do you want me to grab that stuff too?"

She took the bottle gratefully, but her eyes shot open at the question. After finally processing it, a wide smile graced her expression, "Yeah, man! Hang on-" Shoving the bottle into a bag, the woman trotted to the steps. Once the fence was no longer in the way, Waylon could read what her red sweatshirt said, 'Lifeguard.' She bound over to him happily, "I've got a bag."

The two of them immediately set to work, picking up what others had so carelessly thrown about. Only once the bag was full did they stop and face each other again.

The woman was the first to speak as she extended her free hand to Waylon, "Thanks for your help! I'm Lisa."

He shook her hand with a warm smile, "No problem at all, I'm Waylon."

"Nice to meet you! Now," She paused, setting her bag down to reach into her sweatshirt's pocket. "Come wash your hands in the showers with me, Waylon." She laughed out, showing off a small bottle of soap.

"Handy," Waylon joked, "You carry that everywhere?" He followed her to the low lying faucet. It was built to rinse off children after a long day of playing in the sand, but it worked for their needs just fine.

Lisa put a generous amount of soap on each of their hands and scrubbed her palms together with a smile, "Yeah, I work here," She gestured toward the shore, "so I get to do this a lot."

"That's awesome, it's gotta be nice to work on the beach every day." He washed his hands, rinsing them under the faucet. "Is it always this packed this late?"

"Sometimes." She pursed her lips in thought, "It depends, really. A lot of the time it's worse than this, but some forecasts were saying rain tonight, so I think that's why people left early."

"Oh, okay." He mumbled.

That wasn't what he'd wanted to hear, but he didn't want to seem disappointed in front of a stranger, especially one who was being so nice to him. 

They finished washing their hands and turned the water off. Both of them looking at the other as their hands dripped, they realized they didn't have anything to dry them with. Lisa was the first to give in to the temptation, wiping her hands all over the front of her sweatshirt, not caring if it got wet.

Waylon laughed and did the same, the thin fabric of his button up sticking to his skin, but only slightly.

"So…" Lisa started, "I know you're not a local, but where are you from?"

Waylon perked up, "Oh, I'm from California," He looked over at her, "Are you a local?"

She smiled and hoisted her bag up off the ground, "Yep! Born and raised, right here." She headed back toward the steps, gesturing for Waylon to follow.

He happily obliged and strode up alongside his new friend. "Oh cool," He smiled, giving her a thoughtful look, "Do you ever get tired of being in the same place, though?"

"Fuck yeah, man," She laughed, her head bowing forward as she turned it to look at him. "I mean, don't you ever get bored with where you live?"

He sighed softly and let his shoulders sag, "I do. Now that I'm in a town like this I'm thinking about it more," He chuckled and rubbed his freshly cleaned hands over his face, "I'm so sick of living in a city."

"Y'know what'll help with that?" She questioned.

"What?" He parted his fingers over one of his eyes to peek at her curiously.

"Moving." Lisa giggled and bumped her shoulder against his.

Waylon laughed and let his hands go back to his sides, "You know what, I think you're right." He walked with her down the boardwalk, chatting easily like they were childhood friends, reunited by chance.

When they reached the end, Lisa spoke up, "Well, Waylon, it's been swell, but I'd better scram." She beamed, "If you ever wanna go litterbuggin' again then you can find me after noon in one of those fancy lifeguard high-chairs down by the rocky section." She pointed down towards the beach. 

Waylon snorted, his brow quirking up in amusement "Wow, I never thought of them like that before. I'll be sure to stop by." He offered a smile, waving her off.

"I'll catch you later then, man!" She gave him a bright, toothy smile and was off, trotting down a set of steps and towards a separate parking lot.

Waylon turned. Pleased with how the day had turned out, he walked back to the other end of the boardwalk in silence, watching the ocean as he went. It was still just as beautiful as it had been this morning, but he felt better here. He didn't feel like prey under a predator's watchful eye.

As he walked back to his car, he ended up checking his phone for the time. It was just about half past seven and he'd need to grab something to eat before heading home. He could always double-back and grab some expensive boardwalk foods.

No. He needed to go to the diner.

Waylon hopped into the driver's seat, and just as he was going to pull out onto the road, he remembered. His camera was in the glove box.

He put his car in park again and popped the compartment open to grab his camera's case. 

He had taken a picture of the beach this morning, but he hadn't checked it very thoroughly.

But maybe there was more in the photo, more that he hadn't noticed earlier. With any luck, it might give him some answers.

Waylon took the camera from the case and held it in his hands, fighting the urge to put it back and just continue to forget about it.

He needed to know. He needed answers. What was watching him this morning?

Pressing the power button, the camera reacted with a familiar digitized chirp. The screen lit up before him, the camera showing him the steering wheel, the tops of his thighs. The photo was just one click away.

Why could his subconscious make him call his boss, but not make him look at a picture?

**Come on… Maybe there'll be nothing! Then you can just go and enjoy your dinner.**

**_Press the button. Press it, Waylon._ **

His brain forced his hand into action, his thumb pressing its way into the camera roll.

Then, the picture was displayed for him.

The sky and sea just as brilliant as before, the beach without a single grain of sand out of place.

His gaze avoided the rocks, but even in his peripherals it was unmistakable. There was something there.

Waylon's eyes made their way to the spot in question and saw it. How had he missed this?

A man's face was peeking out at him from behind the same rock that he had tried to peer around. The shadows forced by the sun behind him made it tough to make out any features other than pale skin and jet black hair.

Someone had been there the whole time. Watching him. Someone had been in the water with him.

Why hadn't this man responded to Waylon's calls?

Waylon tossed his camera into the passenger's seat and threw his car into drive, turning onto the main road.

The trip to the diner was faster now that there were fewer cars on the road, so once he saw a parking spot, he took it. Waylon grabbed the camera once again and got out, trying to calm himself down before he got to the front door.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The owner immediately noticed him through the small window to the kitchen just behind the counter. "Hey, you're back!" The man called with a smile, his face pink from the heat of his work. "Couldn't resist ol' Frank's cooking, huh?" He laughed.

Waylon forced a smile and nodded, "That's right."

"Well then, park yourself at the counter over here, my friend, and let me know what you'll be havin'."

Waylon just nodded again, that same feeling from this morning had returned to him. Static in his veins, buzzing in his system every time his heart pulsed. He grabbed the open seat in front of the bearded man's window, sitting down quietly. He didn't want to put his camera down in the fear that he might somehow get lost taking the image along with it.

"Can I just get a coffee and some pancakes?" He tried to sound as normal as possible.

"Sure can!" Frank smiled and got to work immediately. There weren't that many people to cater to, but there were enough that it must be at least a little challenging to multi-task. Waylon couldn't see what he was doing behind the wall, but his face was so relaxed and content, like this was the easiest job in the world and that the only thing that affected him was the heat.

Once Frank had finished whatever he had been doing, he lifted something, presumably dishes and made his way shoulder first, through the swinging door behind the counter. His first stop was to a couple's table by the window at the front of the shop. After wishing them a good meal, he was back behind the counter with a mug in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. 

"So," Frank began, placing the mug in front of Waylon. "Did'ja check out that spot that I told you about?"

Waylon cleared his throat, reaching over for a little container of cream and a sugar packet, "Yeah, I did."

"Aaand?" The owner pried eagerly, leaning his elbows on the counter with his head atop his hands. "How was it? It was awesome, right? Best spot on earth."

"Oh, it was beautiful, but-"

Frank gasped dramatically, his posture straightening in an instant. "A but? Uh oh, did you find a body in the sand or something?" He joked with a laugh, resting his hands on the counter. He turned a bit and checked on his helper in the kitchen, a younger man with a shaved head had moved into his spot. This man looked more frustrated with the work, but every now and then his expression would shift into calmness.

"Uhm, no… well… not exactly." Waylon furrowed his brows nervously, "Have you ever experienced anything weird there?"

"Weird? Not really. I'm a pretty weird guy myself, so I think I'd know weird when I see it." He laughed.

Waylon gave a small chuckle, "Well, I mean… there was someone else there, I must have scared them or something cause they didn't respond when I tried talking. B-But I got a picture and-"

Frank perked up at that, leaning forward, "Ooh, show me! Lemme see what'cha got, city-boy, I'm curious."

Honestly, Waylon was relieved that he didn't sound like some raving madman. So, more relaxed now, he turned his camera, raising it to show the man what exactly he had seen.

Frank let his eyes take in everything before him, but he laughed when he noticed it, "Wow, he came right out for ya, huh!"

"He-" Waylon sputtered a bit, raising his brow, "Wait- you know him?"

"Yeah! That's Eddie, we've been buddies for years! He lives in that area." Frank stated like this was common knowledge.

"Oh," Waylon allowed his mind to be put at ease by this.

"Yeah, he's really shy, so I'm surprised that he came to see you, I mean," He rambled, "You're a good lookin' fella, but I just didn't think you'd be his type." Frank rested back on his heels finally, his hands on his hips and that same bright smile peeking out from his scraggly facial hair.

Waylon listened, but all that really made sense was that this man's name was Eddie and he lived in the area. Great. He stayed silent as he tried to process every thought rushing through his mind like a rancher trying to herd a stampede.

Frank hadn't sensed his customer's discomfort, so he went on, "If you're planning on going back there soon, would you mind bringing him something for me?"

"O-Oh, uh…" He hadn't been planning on going back, it hadn't even been a consideration, but… he didn't want to disappoint Frank. There were also some questions that were left unanswered, and maybe Eddie could explain. "Sure."

"Great, I'll give it to you when you're ready to go then!" Frank turned, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. "Hey Dennis!" He boomed. "How are those pancakes comin'?!"

The man standing in the kitchen's window furrowed his brows, but smiled, "They're comin' along perfectly, no thanks to you!"

Waylon would have never taken the man to be a southerner, but the twang in his accent was unmistakable.

"I'll be the judge of that!" Frank laughed and made his way back to the kitchen, levying some of Dennis' workload immediately.

Waylon sipped his coffee and once his food arrived he ate his fill. Frank had wandered back over making small talk every now and then, but eventually the check came, along with a paper bag labelled 'Eddie :)'.

He paid and got back into his car with his newly acquired cargo. He put his camera in its protective case and back into the glovebox, leaving the paper bag on the seat beside him. 

Waylon drove home in peaceful silence and did little else that night other than walk through his front door, put the bag in the fridge, and brush his teeth.

He shuffled into his bedroom, changed into a pair of shorts and before he knew it, he was out cold.

The morning had come all too quickly for Waylon's liking, his phone's alarm ripping him from sleep. Tuesdays were probably his favorite day of the week because he worked in the morning, but come noon, he would be free for the rest of the day.

So, he got up and got ready. If only yesterday had been like this. Quiet and calm were favorable to panic and stress any day.

Waylon got to work and was relieved to find that the issue with the scanner had been taken care of.

His time in the Murkoff Corp. building was much better than yesterday, the scanner worked, he didn't have to talk to that guard, and there were no surprise visits from Blaire.

Today felt okay.

After hours of diligent work, Waylon's shift had ended and he was on his way home once again. He needed to grab his gear for the beach as well as the bag for Eddie. He couldn't forget that.

In the car again, he set off for home, it wasn't far, but the weather was beautiful, so Waylon rolled down the windows. He rested his elbow on the door and in about twenty minutes he was home once more.

It wasn't a big place by any means, but it was perfect for one and company. The stones in the front yard instead of grass was one of his favorite features. Sure, he couldn't walk through them very easily with bare feet, but it reminded him of summers from his childhood and driving through a shore town and seeing all the beach houses.

Waylon trotted inside, changed into his swim trunks and grabbed the bag. He took a moment to look at it, pondering its contents quietly. It was a bit heavy, but Waylon didn't want to invade Eddie's privacy by checking what was inside.

Waylon shook his head. It was probably just food, he figured. With that, he was out the door and back in his car.

He drove back through town, past the boardwalk and parked on that same side street. Still, it was empty. A new day hadn't brought any new visitors. Waylon grabbed the paper bag and his own bag, which he slung over his shoulder before he locked the doors and began his trek along the dirt path through the forest.

The sun was at its highest peak above him, but the canopy of leaves acted as a shield and offered him a cool refuge. The forest was quiet, but birds still chirped and squirrels hopped skittishly through the foliage.

At the end of the path to the left, Waylon stopped, examining the beach before him.

Stunning.

Untouched.

Like it had been awaiting his return. Somehow, it knew he would come crawling back.

There was a difference, though.

Waylon stepped out into the sun and took a deep breath as he kicked off his sandals. He didn't feel like he was under surveillance.

He took out his towel as he walked closer to the water's edge. It was tricky to unfold the towel with one hand, but he managed not to make quite that big a mess with sand. Once it was down and flat, Waylon placed the bags down at one end. Now that his hands were free, he took off his shirt and placed it on the towel.

Looking around once again to make sure he was alone, Waylon sighed. Frank hadn't told him how to find this guy.

**I guess I'll just have to catch him spying on me like last time.**

The water was beckoning him closer, calling to him so politely that it would be plain rude to deny. He trotted through the loose granules before it shifted into a hard, cool surface soothing the heated skin of his soles. 

Waylon waited until a wave crashed, sending foam and seawater scrambling towards him, low against the ground. He curled his toes into the sand at the cold touch, but shook it off, stepping out further as the sea drew back.

In this spot, Waylon didn't have the luxury of just diving in and getting the worst part of acclimation over with, well, he could if he wanted to risk getting a concussion. The rocks made this process painfully slow, but he worked through the initial cold and got to the same two stones he had stumbled through the other day, but this time, there was no unsteady shifting under his feet. The stones had been pushed away and Waylon could feel sand where he stood. 

Waylon wondered if they had been knocked away when he fell.

Stepping through the limits of this natural barrier, Waylon found that the ground sloped downward, just enough to send him up to his chest in water. He gasped at feeling and clenched his teeth, having to force his arms down and into the ocean's clutches. He hummed flatly to himself, waiting for the discomfort to pass as he waded out a bit deeper, having to tread since he could no longer stand.

Then another wave came, and with it came that familiar sensation. He was being watched.

He spun in the water, his gaze leaping to the large rock, but there was nothing there. Eddie wasn't watching him.

The water shifted below him, moving him slightly with it, but something brushed his legs. It was rough like sandpaper and it froze Waylon in his entirety. His mind went silent, cold, like an old stone well, but from its depths one word echoed, bouncing from surface to surface.

_Shark._

He hoped he was just imagining it, but his brain forced his body to jerk around once more. Now facing the open ocean, he struggled to scan the water around him, it looked like nothing was there, but it was too dark below the surface to be certain. 

He focussed on the surface again, his body too scared to move. Waylon felt like he was going to faint, his breath was so harsh and strained that he feared he might black out.

The day had started so nicely, but now it was turning into something from a horror movie or a scene plucked from his worst nightmares.

This was no dream.

The dorsal fin gliding slowly through the water and straight towards him was no mirage or trick on his mind.

God, this couldn't be real.

It was getting closer, Waylon couldn't think fast enough to scream, but thankfully his body knew it needed to leave. _Now._

He backed through the water as quickly as he could, his arms working overtime to keep his legs away from the creatures jaws.

This was a mistake, he shouldn't have come back here. Why didn't he just tell Frank he couldn't bring Eddie his stuff?

Waylon didn't want to blink, afraid that something so small might give the predator the upper-hand, his eyes stayed glued to the water in front of him.

The birds had all gone silent and he no longer heard the waves crashing against the sand. All he heard was the wild thumping of his heartbeat.

Waylon backed away once he could touch the ground again, but his feet hit the bottom of the slope of sand. His misstep ruined all momentum and the distance between him and his pursuer thinned.

This fumble was the opportunity that it needed to make its move. The creature arched, its fin dipping lower into the water as it closed in and grabbed him.

Waylon screamed and was dragged beneath the surface in one quick motion.

But there was no pain.

There was no thrashing, no mauling. No warmth of blood in the tide.

His eyes were clamped too tightly to open, he was petrified of what he might see when he opened them.

The static had overtaken every sensation he possessed, leaving him with the numbness of pins and needles. But he was aware of pressure on his arms.

He felt hands.

Human hands. They were sturdy, but gentle, grounding him underwater.

Waylon forced an eye open to figure out what was going on and was met with the blurry silhouette of a man. Both of his eyes were wide open now and he blinked, trying to see better.

Dark hair, pale skin… His eyes were dark, too dark to make out their color. Too dark to be human.

He didn’t move, but Waylon could feel this man's eyes on him, tracing every curve and feature on his face.

Behind the man, he made out a tail swaying through the water and a fin. The same fucking dorsal fin that chased him to this point.

Waylon's fear got the better of him and he struggled against the grip. He needed to breathe. Did this _thing_ know that? The rest of Waylon's breath escaped him in a flurry of bubbles all escaping back to the surface.

The hands holding him eased a bit before releasing him entirely.

Waylon needed to breathe before he could attempt to escape, and the minute he was free, he breached the surface with a splash, gasping heavily. He was still facing the open ocean, but now, he had company.

The man before him looked human, but… his eyes were wrong. The whites of them were black, encasing the icy blue of his irises, like staring at a planet in the night sky. Deep scars, some older than others, made their home on his strong features.

He met the man's eyes again only to find that they hadn't strayed from him.

Waylon swallowed, panting softly, "U-Uhm…" He cleared his throat softly, "Are… Are you Eddie?"

The man perked up with the unmistakable sound of a gasp. "You know my name." He looked oddly pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is kind of long, but I hope it doesn't suck to read lmao!! I get too in my own head when I try to write and I feel like I don't express/explain things well lol I feel like I make things very convoluted, but Im not sure how to work on that
> 
> Just wanted to build the world a bit I guess, and also officially bring in a few characters C: Any pointers/feedback are much appreciated!!
> 
> (The formatting also looks kind weird to me and im not sure why lol)
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	3. Facing the Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something in the dark depths of the ocean with teeth so sharp that it could kill with a single bite. It's just a bonus that this something has a voice like an angel. Waylon has a hot date with a cryptid, not quite bigfoot like he'd told Miles, but a cryptid nonetheless.

Waylon was frozen. The creature before him successfully wiped his mind clean of thought just with his gaze and his, well... everything else. He’d barely registered that Eddie had spoken until he cleared his throat.

It effectively broke Waylon from his trance, but just barely kicked his mind into action. "U-Uh, I’m sorry…" He sputtered quickly, leaning back against the stone behind him, "What?"

"My name." Eddie reminded as gently as he could around his sharpened teeth, "You know it." His voice was smooth like warm velvet, and not at all what Waylon was expecting. It was gentle, but firm.

"I- Yeah, uhm… a guy named Frank told me that someone named Eddie lived around here."

"Ah, yes," His company started with narrowed eyes, "Frank."

"He said you've been buddies for years." Waylon raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes," Was all that he offered to clear this all up, instead focusing his attention, once again, on the man before him. Eddie fell silent and let his gaze shift from a simple disinterest in the topic, to a more poised neutrality, only to shift again, to something that Waylon couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t hunger… it was something else. "I frightened you, yes?" He asked, his voice low. "I'm awfully sorry, I tend to have that effect on people." He waded through the water with little to no effort, leaving a meager three feet between him and Waylon.

It was too little a space for Waylon’s liking.

But regardless of the proximity, he could feel the pins and needles of anxiety subsiding, remnants of a memory that was unnecessary to remember now. "Yeah, well I'm guessing it's the tail and the, uh… teeth and stuff." Waylon huffed, trying to peer through the water’s darkness to see Eddie in his entirety. How was it possible that he could talk like a human, look mostly like a human, and be anything but?

Eddie chuckled and nodded, "I'm inclined to agree with you." He was about a foot from Waylon now, flashing a toothy grin.

Waylon swallowed, the familiar prickle of static under his skin reignited by the shrinking distance between them. Eddie’s mouth caught his eye. It was adorned with teeth so sharp that he could tear Waylon apart with little problem and devour him so completely that the only evidence that Waylon had been real would be his personal effects left on the sand. One well placed bite and Waylon was a goner. 

This couldn’t be real. Hell, _Eddie_ couldn’t be real. 

Surely this was all just a dream. Waylon would wake up soon, laying on his towel with a terrible sunburn. The only reason he was dreaming of something like this was because he needed to know what had been stalking him yesterday. So his mind created Eddie to fill in the blank.

That had to be it.

"Oh yeah, uh…” He barely managed dragging himself back into the reality of the present moment. Waylon’s eyes darted from Eddie to the water between them, chaotic ripples trying so hard to keep them apart. He wished it was metal, or glass; something solid. He might not be so intimidating if he was observing the man from behind the glass of an aquarium exhibit. “Frank sent me with a bag for you." He said as steadily as possible, trying to steer Eddie’s focus back into a conversation and away from whatever thoughts he was having now.

It worked well enough, stopping Eddie in his path. "Did he now? More of his seasoned meats, no doubt." He sighed, but it wasn't exactly bitter or even disappointed. It was more of a poorly hidden fondness, like pebbles swept haphazardly under a carpet.

“He makes you food?” Waylon asked, he had assumed it was food, but Eddie had the lower body of an apex predator, with the teeth to match. Did he really need the help?

Eddie straightened up a bit at the question, “Yes,” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “He has for years, despite me telling him that there’s truly no need anymore.”

_Anymore._ That piqued Waylon’s curiosity, his eyebrow raising accordingly.

Before he could question it, Eddie batted a dismissive hand at him. “I’m plenty capable of hunting for my own meals as you can probably imagine.” There were his teeth again, white and lethal, shining against the water in that charming, deadly smile. So human, and yet so far from it.

"I can." Waylon breathed out a chuckle and nodded, trying his best to calm his nerves.

Needing to pry his eyes from Eddie’s imposing form, mostly hidden in the water, he gestured for the man to follow as he turned to head back towards the shore.

Eddie blinked. His smile fell, but only for a moment as he processed the silent instruction. The man followed, though he took a bit longer, trying to navigate through the rocks to avoid hurting himself.

Waylon trudged through the knee-deep water and made his way toward the sand, trying to convince himself that he would feel safer once he was out of Eddie’s domain.

“What is your name?” Eddie asked, breaking the relative silence as he waded closer and closer to the shore.

The man stumbled a bit as a stone shifted underfoot, but quickly managed to catch himself. Waylon took a deep breath before clearing his throat, “Waylon,” He offered, “Waylon Park.” He turned back around and shuffled his way through the shallow water and up onto the cold, hard sand.

Eddie was silent at first, shaping his new acquaintance's name over and over, wanting to feel how it rolled around his mouth. Once he was satisfied, he spoke. “It’s nice to meet you, Waylon Park.” He smiled, but it was short lived. He was having a bit more trouble making it through the shallow water than his two-legged company.

Once he made it to shore and was seated at the water's edge, Waylon could finally take him all in.

His skin was pale and riddled with scars, pink and deep, they looked as though one precise touch was all that would be needed to spark the pain all over again. They were all different. Some looked like cuts from glass or metal, others, the deeper ones, looked like punctures. There was one in particular that caught Waylon's attention.

It was impossible to know exactly how old it was simply by looking, but it was deep and wide at the center. A thin, tender layer of rosy pink skin was the only shield to protect the wound, like a bandage on the cracking concrete of a dam, holding back a tidal wave.

Then, there was the tail. Thick and strong and completely capable of causing damage to anyone unfortunate enough to get hit by it. Like the rest of Eddie, his tail was covered in scars and scratches, but these didn’t quite break the skin. Waylon couldn’t help but wonder how thick the skin was, he had felt it’s rough surface, but it didn’t help to answer any of his questions. Eddie’s fins, though frightening when in the dark shroud of the ocean, were oddly beautiful in the broad daylight. They held the same majesty as a bird's wings, carrying sharp talons capable of lethal force to unsuspecting prey.

Waylon shook his head in an attempt to push the thought away before trotting over to his towel. He dried his hands and picked up the paper bag. Once he turned again, he found that Eddie’s gaze was locked onto him, and even though he had been caught staring, he made no effort to avert his eyes.

“Uhm…” he started, but found there hadn’t been any real thought attached to the sound. Waylon cleared his throat and held the bag in front of him, stepping closer to Eddie slowly. “Here’s your food.”

Eddie turned his head to watch his company and gave a hum before he reached beside him to rub his hands through the sand, allowing it to absorb the dampness from his skin.

Waylon was mesmerized, as if he was watching the sand pass from globe to globe in an hourglass. He watched the sand fall from the man’s skin as he rubbed his palms together, leaving his hands dry enough to handle the bag with ease.

The distance between them was a bit greater than Waylon realized, because after a moment, the man chuckled.

“You’ll have to bring it closer, darling,” He gave the sand beside him a soft pat, “I’m afraid I’m far less mobile up here.”

He took a moment to comprehend what Eddie said. It wasn’t complex at all, but this entire situation was so jarring that Waylon had to take the time to remember that Eddie couldn't just walk to him like another human might. He wasn't even human. At least, not entirely.

After what felt like ten minutes, Waylon closed the distance with a few careful steps forward to place the bag in Eddie’s awaiting hands. “Sorry about that…”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, but didn’t honor the apology with any other acknowledgement. Instead, he focused on working the staple out of the bag, as though he didn’t want to rip it.

Waylon watched, unsure of what to say, if anything. There was something so gentle about the sight before him and he was afraid that speaking might throw off his concentration. So, he stayed silent.

His fingertips picked the staple open, unfastened it’s hold on the joined paper, and once he could get to the bag’s contents, he folded the staple’s wings back over, to avoid a future prick.

Waylon pried his eyes off of Eddie, choosing to shuffle a smooth pebble through the sand underfoot. 

“So,” He needed to think, force his blank, shocked mind to think and cloud it full of pointless icebreaker questions, “You live around here?”

Pointless, indeed.

“That, I do.” He glanced over at Waylon, taking a Styrofoam container from the confines of the paper bag. Eddie seemed to recognize that Waylon needed a little push for conversation, so push, he did. “I usually stay in this spot specifically, because it’s peaceful, empty. However I may move out into deeper waters than this when storms roll in.” He gestured to the ocean before him.

Waylon was intrigued, “Why’s that?” He asked, cocking his head a bit as he stepped closer to the man seated in the sand before him.

Eddie opened the large container and surveyed its contents briefly, before he shut it and returned it to the paper bag, “Well,” He began, placing the paper beside him on the warm sand. “I have never been a fan of storms, and it can be rather tiring to try and fight the currents when they’re so unrelenting. Out where it’s deeper, I don’t have to worry about that so much.” Eddie looked out over the water ahead of him and tapped at the rough skin of his tail for a moment before he added quietly, “And the, uhm... _booms_ are softer.” He blinked a few times, his brow furrowing as if he had tasted something he didn't like.

“The booms?” Waylon questioned.

His company nodded and cleared his throat, avoiding Waylon’s gaze at all costs, “Yes, there’s the lightning, and then the boom.” He gestured to the sky vaguely.

Waylon froze and stared at him for a moment. “Oh, the thunder?” he asked.

His head immediately turned, catching Waylon in his gaze once again, “Yes! Thank you. Thunder is terrible, very unpredictable and noisy, so I try to avoid being out in storms all together.”

Waylon nodded and took another step toward Eddie, “Yeah, I can understand that, I don’t like thunder much either, but I guess it depends on how far away it is.”

Eddie nodded his head a bit, “May I ask where you’re from?” His tail fin batting slowly around in the water as the waves retreat and gather again.

“Oh, yeah,“ Waylon mustered up enough courage to plant himself in the sand near Eddie, keeping a good distance between them still, just in case. “I actually live far from here, over in California.” He figured that Eddie wouldn’t know specific cities, so that would suffice.

“How far is that?” He asked quickly.

“I’d say about ten-hours, give or take, if you’re flying.”

“Flying.” Eddie nodded and looked towards the ocean briefly, “That is certainly far. What brings you all this way from home?”

"Work mainly,” Waylon chuckled, “Right now, I’m working for a company that's in the area, so I’m stuck here for the next few months.”

“What a shame.” Eddie looked at Waylon, his eyebrows knitted in a sympathetic manner, but it was obvious that it wasn’t genuine. Especially when it was quickly followed by one of the most charming smiles that Waylon had ever seen. “I do hope this means that you’ll stop by again.”

Waylon found himself nodding before his brain could argue, “Yeah, I mean,” He gestured to the area around them, “I can’t exactly find another place like this around here.”

Eddie chuckled, "Too crowded for you?" He examined the Styrofoam container beside him once again before returning it to his lap.

"Yeah."

They were both quiet for a moment, basking in the sound of the waves.

"Would you like some?"

Waylon picked his head up again and looked to Eddie, "What?"

"Food," He gestured to the now opened container. It was full of meat all seasoned with the same rub Waylon had smelled floating around Frank's diner. It smelled delicious. "Would you like some?"

"Oh," Waylon looked at Eddie, taking a moment to take him in, before he shook his head, "No. Thank you though."

"That's quite all right, darling." He smiled, not yet touching the food for himself. The smile he wore was genuine, but it had an empty sort of happiness to it, as if he was keeping silent in his disappointment.

Waylon shuffled in the sand nervously for a moment, glancing around for anything to levy the awkwardness he felt in understanding the look without knowing the remedy. “I, uh,” he began, “I’ll stick around for a little bit longer, if you want though.”

“Oh darling, you don’t have to.” The hybrid shook his head, batting his hand at his company, though he made no move to establish eye contact with him.

“Nah, it’s okay, I want to,” that made Eddie look at him, his eyes full of wonder as Waylon continued, “I know how much it sucks to eat alone,” He sat back, propping himself up on his hands, “and besides, you’re pretty interesting, I’d at least like to talk for a little while longer.”

Eddie was silent for a moment, taking his time to study Waylon’s posture and expression, before he smiled more genuinely. “Thank you.”

Waylon turned his head toward him and found himself lost in the warmth of his gaze, like watching the smoldering embers in a fireplace trying to keep a cold room illuminated just to see for a little while longer. He felt warm, and sure, he was sitting under the hot sun on the beach in the middle of July, but it was different. This was something he felt under his skin every time this mystery man, or creature, so much as looked at him.

“No problem,” He managed finally, casting his eyes back toward the foam at the water’s edge.

The two of them were silent for a short while, just enjoying the other’s company as the sound and scent of the ocean drifted over the breeze. Eddie ate his meal from Frank quietly and Waylon resisted the urge to watch his teeth in action, as tempting as it was.

Who’d have thought that the day would turn out like this? It was only a matter of hours ago when Waylon thought that he would be confronting a stalker, only to fear for his life and end up within a few feet of a merman.

No one would believe him if he told them. But who here would he tell other than the lady he’d met at the beach, Lisa. She’d probably call him crazy. There was Frank, but he already knew. Miles would believe him in a heartbeat, but he’d ask to see pictures.

Pictures. He had one, but there was little more than a man behind a rock in the frame.

Waylon could absolutely manage pictures, if Eddie would let him. It felt wrong and invasive to even think about taking pictures that he wasn’t aware of.

“Y’know,” He began, “I caught you in a picture the other day.”

Eddie froze at that, “Did you?”

Waylon laughed and nodded, “Yeah, while you were watching me from behind that rock.” He gestured to the stone obstruction in the water.

A quick glance to his left revealed that the hybrid was blushing, his cheeks beet red as his wide eyes stuck plastered to the meal in his lap. “You saw that?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Only after I looked at the picture again,” Waylon smiled and sat forward, resting his hands in the warm sand, “By the way, I tripped on those stones the other day.”

Eddie was silent again at that.

“Thank you for moving them.” He smiled, looking over at the oddest man he’d ever met in his life. Waylon didn’t feel the need to be scared of him anymore. Sure, he was half shark, which was alarming, but he was also human and their conversations made Eddie feel like he was just another stranger that Waylon had talked to and befriended by chance. He was friendly and kind and nothing to be afraid of.

“You’re welcome, darling.” He offered quietly before he got back to eating the last few bites of his meal.

Waylon found his way of speaking strange. There was no doubt that he’d been speaking English for quite some time, but he sounded as though he’d learned it from old radio-shows and from newscasters from the 1950s. His voice was smooth, but a deep scar at the corner of his mouth made him lisp a bit.

“Thank you for staying, Waylon.” The man beside him spoke in a low voice. “This area is off the beaten path, so I rarely have company, but even when I do,” He paused to take a deep breath, “I usually scare them off.”

“Lemme guess,” Waylon folded his arms and turned to sit facing Eddie, “It’s the teeth and fins, right?”

The hybrid nodded before turning his gaze to his company. “You’re different though.”

“Me?” He snorted, “Not really. I got scared too.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Here I am.”

Eddie finished his food and placed the empty container back into the paper bag, “Now, darling, could I bother you for a favor of my own?”

He perked up and raised an eyebrow, “Sure, what do you need?”

“Two things, actually.” He offered Waylon the bag, “Could you please throw this out for me? I’d do it myself if I were able and had a bin at my disposal, but alas, I don’t.”

The brunette chuckled and took the bag with a smile, “You got it,” he nodded. “What’s the second favor?”

Eddie shifted in the sand a bit, his hands folded in his lap to keep them still. “Come by tomorrow,” he looked to Waylon, “please.”

That wasn’t what he had been expecting. He’d thought maybe Eddie was getting sick of the food Frank offered him and wanted something new to try. This was far more pleasant and for some reason, it gave Waylon butterflies.

He chuckled and nodded again, “I think I can manage that. I might get here late though, cause I have to work.”

“Oh dear, you don’t have to if you’re busy.” Eddie’s brow knit at that. “It’s all right.”

The man wagged his finger at Eddie and laughed, “No, no, I’m coming tomorrow, but I should probably head home now, if I don’t wanna get lost in the woods on my way outta here.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want that, too many blood-sucking bugs out for that.” There was a sigh from Eddie, it was a mixture of both disappointment that his new friend had to leave, but relief for the fact that he’d be seeing him again soon.

“Mosquitoes.” Waylon added helpfully.

“Mosquitoes.” Eddie repeated.

The brunette chuckled and got to his feet with the bag in hand, heading to his towel to pack what little he had brought. He put the bag down to tug on his shirt before he picked everything up, looking around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten or dropped anything. He hadn’t.

Eddie still sat in the sand before the ocean, looking out over the peachy horizon. He looked like a work of art, made specifically for Waylon to see in this moment, bathed in the warm orange and pinks of the slow sunset.

As if he had felt Waylon’s eyes on him, he turned his head toward him again and locked eyes immediately.

Waylon felt the urge to look away the minute he turned, but even though he felt the sting of embarrassment from being caught, he couldn’t look anywhere else. He didn’t want to.

Eddie smirked, as if pleasantly surprised by catching his prey in this manner. “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling. Have a safe trip home.”

Waylon cleared his throat and floundered, “Yeah, yep-” he could feel his cheeks burning, “See you tomorrow, Eddie.” He offered a wave and forced himself to turn away from the hybrid. He trudged through the sand until he reached the tree-line and only stopped to slip into his sandals before he dared to glance back towards the shore.

Eddie was gone, slipped into the dark of the ocean like smoke under a door frame. It looked as if he hadn’t ever been there at all.

Waylon just had to hold onto the hope that Eddie would be there when he returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I KNOW ITS BEEN *checks calendar* A LONG TIME, but I'm back with chapter 3 folks! I really hope it's nice to read and not, yknow, terrible lmao. But in all honesty, I kinda had a plan for this story that I never wrote down and have now forgotten cause I kept going to write and then lost motivation. So I'm gonna try and write an outline to keep it rollin, which I usually don't do cause my brain doesn't really work that way. ANYWAY, I hope y'all like it! Lemme know whatcha think! <:'D <3 <3 <3


	4. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is comfort in company, even on a cold summer night, sitting before the ocean. Waylon shows up for his rendezvous with Eddie after a long day of work and hopes that he shows up.

The entire drive to work the next morning was quiet and filled with thoughts of both the ocean and Eddie. Their meeting hadn’t gone at all like how Waylon had imagined it might. First off, he hadn’t even expected Eddie to be real, which even hours later he was still struggling with. Perhaps he was just a figment of his imagination, to fill in the lonely gaps for his stay in this foreign town. It was possible, but he’d be lying if he said he didn't dread the thought. He was too old for imaginary friends.

Setting his sights on the nighttime, he worked the long, boring hours of his job, which he had to remind himself multiple times, was only temporary. Time dragged on to the point where seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours, and the only plus side was that there was no sign of Mr. Blaire.

Waylon had the odd little observation room all to himself, staring at his computer screen and listening to the faint hum of the towers and fans in the background. Other than that it was silent. While his fingers worked at the keyboard, he found his mind straying to the night before.

He thought of Eddie. The scars that made their home on the landscape of his skin, branding him forever. His hands precision in folding back the wings of the staple. The softness in his eyes and smile every time he called Waylon, “Darling.”

He let his mind paint Eddie sitting there at the water’s edge, staring out at the horizon as if it would come to meet him if he just wished hard enough.

He was, by all means, the strangest stranger that Waylon ever had the pleasure of meeting, but he felt anything but. He was a creature, a myth, but he was a man too. He was Eddie, and Waylon felt like he’d known him forever.

Come six o clock, there was still no word from Waylon’s obnoxious superior. He tried not to focus on the sudden feeling of dread that swelled in his chest as he typed, like Blaire would come in at any moment and shatter Waylon’s workflow in an instant. The employee knew that it had to be coming at some point, as had happened every other workday, and the stress made sure that he braced himself for the impact of it.

Seven o clock came and went. As did seven-thirty. Still there was nothing. No intrusion. No hand clamping down on his shoulder to bring him back to the reality of the tiresome work he found himself doing. There was nothing.

At eight o clock, Waylon saved the work he had done and turned slowly in his stiff swivel chair, giving the room a quick scan as he stretched. He figured that it would be empty, but the thought that Blaire might be standing in the doorway or against the back wall watching him never lost his mind.

But, empty it was.

The employee, still trying to ease his own worries, let his shoulders relax and rose to his feet. He made quick work of shutting down the computer, before he packed up his things. The last thing he did was push in the chair to his desk, then he was set to leave, he just needed to stop at the front desk to sign out.

It was too quiet for Waylon to be comfortable. He found himself listening to his own breathing, the sound of his footsteps, counting how many it took for him to reach the door. He flipped the light switch, drowning the room in darkness behind him, the only light coming from the towers lining the wall like a constellation of blinking lights of green and blue. Taking his exit, he shut and locked the office behind him.

Waylon walked through the empty halls quietly, listening for any sign of life. Every door he passed was closed and presumably locked, but he didn’t dare to test that theory, he was tired and just wanted to get out of this dark, lonely place. The elevator was a relatively short walk away, and getting to it after the long day he had just auto-piloted his way through felt like a gift he had to open.

The man pressed the button on the wall beside the elevator, only having to wait a few seconds before it dinged and the doors slid open to grant him entry. It carried him to the ground floor, but during the ascension, he stared at the button panel. He wondered what was in the lowest level of the building. Waylon had the pleasure of working in B2, but what was below that in B3? Why was it such a secret only spoken of in hushed tones? It bothered him that he didn’t know, but then again, it wasn’t his job to know.

So he tried to push the curiosity out of his mind, which was easy to do once he felt the lift slow to a stop at its destination. He exited and made his way to the reception desk, where a guard was sat, magazine in hand.

The man barely raised his head to acknowledge Waylon’s approach, which was more appreciated than he probably knew.

He signed out and turned to exit the building, only to be greeted by the chilled dark of night.

The parking lot was more full than he had expected it to be, with only a few empty spaces dotting the area, but he found his own car easily enough. With a sigh escaping into the slow air around him, he dropped his bag in the passenger seat and took his place in front of the steering wheel.

The drive wasn’t that far to his secret section of the shoreline, but he decided to take the drive through town slowly.

While stopped at a red-light, Waylon surveyed the array of shops that lined the street beside him. There were a few nautical knick-knack shops, a seafood restaurant, a boutique, and a bakery.

It was a strange thought, but Waylon wondered if he should bring his new friend something from one of these shops. He’d definitely never stepped foot in any of them for obvious reasons, but perhaps there would be something he would enjoy. So. he decided to park beside the entrance to the boardwalk.

Waylon grabbed his wallet from his bag and tucked it into his pocket. He locked the car doors once he exited, despite the fact that he’d only be across the street and checked his phone. It was eight twenty-five, and though he hadn’t given Eddie a definitive time, he felt like he was running late.

The first stop he made was to the bakery, where the warm air, scented like a freshly baked apple pie graced him. The shop was small, but the small cafe-esque tables and glass displays for the baked goods made it feel so much bigger.

An older woman stood behind the counters, sweeping quietly. She looked up and smiled at him, “Evenin’,” the woman greeted, “See anything you like?”

Waylon took a deep breath through his nose, letting the smell of cinnamon fill his lungs before he stepped up to examine the displays, “I do,” he chuckled, “What would you recommend?”

She made her way closer and propped the broom against the countertop, “Well, I’m personally a big fan of the peach cobbler, but we also make a mean strawberry cheesecake!”

This was going to be a tough choice. He had no idea what Eddie liked or if he could even eat this sort of stuff. Waylon gave a hum in thought, looking over the woman’s suggestions, “What about for someone who’s really picky?”

“Picky, eh?” She mused, walking to another section of the displays, “Can’t go wrong with cupcakes! There’s a pack of three, that's got the basics!” She gestured to the dish of cupcakes, “There’s vanilla with vanilla icing, chocolate with chocolate, and strawberry with strawberry.”

The man perked up and nodded with a smile, "The three-pack is perfect."

"All righty!" The woman retrieved the cupcakes from the display and placed them in a plastic container with the utmost care.

Waylon paid for the sweets and took his leave with an enthusiastic, “Have a good night!” before he returned to his car and continued on his way.

He turned his car off, grabbed the towel from the backseat, just in case, and the plastic container in the seat beside him before he got out and locked the doors.

The night air was still, save for the occasional breeze that made the trees shiver with each gentle gust, only for the world to still again. Waylon stepped out of the street light’s grasp and walked on to the dirt path. He could hear crickets chirping in the confines of the forest in search of mates, and made his way down the path.

The man watched the ground as he walked until eventually he started to see sand amidst the dirt, sparkling like diamonds in the faint moonlight. He was close, and before him, he could hear the ocean calling to him in the distance, like a whisper on the wind urging him onward. It made the darkness of the night around him all the more inviting. Gradually, the sound grew nearer, and at the opening of the tree-line, he could finally see it in all its majesty.

The waves were dark and steady against the moonlight, crashing against the shore as rhythmically as the flapping of a bird's wings.

Waylon took a moment to take off his shoes and socks before making his way onto the cold sand.

Eddie was nowhere to be seen.

It shouldn’t worry him, hell, Eddie hadn’t come to meet him at the door any of the times Waylon made the short journey to his beach. He figured that, eventually, he’d turn up, and when he did, Waylon would be here waiting.

The coldness of the ocean spray made Waylon shiver as he approached the water’s edge, still looking around in hopes of finding his company. He found a suitable spot in the sand and sat down, resting the plastic container in his lap, he unfolded the towel to wrap it around his shoulders.

He watched the waves roll for what felt like forever, but there was still no sign of Eddie. Waylon yawned and retrieved his phone from his pocket to check the time. The screen, which had been way too bright for a darkness such as this, read nine o clock.

The man felt his heart sink, not in a fearful way, but in an almost disappointed way. If he wanted to get home without falling asleep at the wheel, then he'd have to leave soon, but he worried that Eddie wouldn't come before then.

It was insane to think that he would show up in the first place, but Eddie was out there. He was real, he had to be, Waylon had felt him for christ's sake. But then, why wasn't he coming?

At eight thirty-five, the man pulled off onto the barren side street that he’d found himself wandering down just the day before. The field to his right remained untouched, a single street light at the corner being the only illumination to the empty picnic tables that sat dormant in the grass.

Waylon didn't know, but he had enough sense to wait for a little while longer before he would give up.

So he waited, and every now and then, he would lift his phone again to watch the minutes count on. He sighed softly and brought his knees to his chest, wanting to preserve his fading warmth for as long as he could.

At nine-twenty, the tired man let his hope leave him in a sigh.

He stood up and took the towel off of himself before grabbing the container of sweets again. Perhaps Eddie had forgotten? Or maybe he hadn’t been serious when he asked Waylon to come back. Then again, maybe he just wasn’t real after all.

The man stood up and scanned the water one final time. There was nothing, no fin protruding from the surface, no shape watching him from behind a rock, there was no Eddie. He pried his gaze away and turned, shuffling through the sand towards the tree-line.

Before he could reach his shoes, a familiar voice called from behind him, “Darling!”

Waylon stopped in his tracks and spun on his heel, all of his senses lighting up at the sound of Eddie’s voice. He took a moment to find his form through the darkness, still up to his chest in the ocean’s grasp, but he was there. Excitement blossomed in his chest the moment their eyes locked, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sensation.

“Hey,” Waylon called back, trotting over to the shore once again, “Sorry I was so late, I made a quick stop after work.”

Eddie waded closer, shaking his head as he navigated through the stones around him, “Nonsense, there’s no need to apologize! I trust I didn’t make you wait too long?”

He blinked a few times before batting his hand at his company, “Nah, not at all! I just got here a couple minutes ago.” He lied.

This was rewarded with a smile. Too toothy to be human, but too charming to be anything else. “Perfection.” Eddie slid himself carefully up onto the sand, eyes never leaving Waylon. “What have you got there, darling?” He inquired, gesturing to the items in Waylon’s hands.

As if he had forgotten that he’d been holding anything, he glanced down to inspect the items, “Oh!” He smiled and made his way closer to Eddie, claiming the spot in the sand beside him, “Uh…” He paused, now feeling silly for bringing a shark man anything other than meat, “I brought these for you.” Waylon cleared his throat and lifted the container towards Eddie.

The hybrid was frozen for a minute, staring at the gift before him. “For… me?” Eddie floundered, his mind either racing or moving too slowly to provide anything helpful to say.

The brunette hummed in affirmation.

Eddie slowly reached up, but instead of taking hold of the container, he rested his hands over Waylon’s, shielding them from the cold night air.

Waylon’s brow rose at the contact. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but Eddie was warmer than he thought he would be. He let his gaze fall to their hands. His skin was coarse and roughed up from the salty water that he called home, but his touch was gentle, as if Waylon was held together by nothing but spider silk.

After what felt like an eternity, Waylon raised his gaze again, only to find Eddie already staring back at him.

He could feel the heat spreading across his face as he looked back into Eddie’s eyes, like staring up from the bottom of a well to see the brilliance of the sunlight and sky above. The hybrid looked as though he were trying to commit every detail of Waylon’s face to memory, so he felt it only fair to try and do the same. It was a losing battle, however, the butterflies that rose to flutter in his stomach urged him to look away, and so he did.

Eddie took a few more seconds to trace Waylon’s features before he slid his hands to take a careful hold of the container. “Thank you, darling.” He spoke quietly, though it was clear as day even against the rolling waves.

“No problem,” Waylon mumbled, glancing at his company briefly.

Eddie hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything more for a short while, choosing to sit in silence and enjoy the remedy to his loneliness. He spoke up, looking out over the rising and falling peaks on the ocean’s surface, “I didn’t think you would show up.”

“Really?” The brunette raised an eyebrow.

There was silence again, brief, but still there before Eddie continued, “I thought that, perhaps I had actually scared you off.”

Waylon couldn’t help but snort, leaning forward to place his hands in the sand, “Oh, come on, it’d take a lot more than a few sharp teeth to drive me off.”

Eddie smiled, “I’m thankful for that.”

“And besides,” he continued, “You’re not as scary as you might think.”

Eddie snapped his head toward Waylon at that, raising an eyebrow, “Is that so?”

“I mean, not up here anyway.” He gave the sand a light pat. He’d be lying if he said that Eddie wasn’t intimidating, which was mostly thanks to his massive frame, but up on solid ground, he wasn’t scary.

"I could be." He chuckled, offering the man beside him a devilish grin lined with razor sharp teeth.

Waylon looked toward him and traced the contours of his smile absentmindedly, before he snapped himself back into the conversation, "I wouldn't doubt it honestly. But right here and now, you're just good company." He shrugged.

"Oh, darling, you're too kind." Eddie placed the container in the sand to his side.

Waylon took a deep breath. While working at Murkoff, it felt like he didn't get to take many of those. He was always too tense or too tired to think about it, so he simply didn't. He'd just let his systems run with the same monotony as the computers he worked on, running only because someone commanded him too.

He wondered what Eddie must do all day. Hunting was a definite must, but other than that, he was unbound. He could sit at the edge of the ocean and gaze at the horizon as time passed around him for as long as he wanted to. It must be nice, if a little lonely.

Waylon pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them close for warmth. He looked over at Eddie, quietly observing him in the moonlight. His tail glistened, its weight leaving it unaffected by the push of the dying waves. Every time the foam rolled back down the shore, Waylon noticed the way the drops of water left behind caressed the man's old scratches and scars, filling in the space like spackling paste to a crack in drywall. "Hey," he began, Eddie turning his head toward him, "Can I ask you something?"

Eddie tilted his head curiously, his brows furrowing, "Of course, darling. What is it?"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but, uh... can I ask how you got all of those scars?" He brought his gaze to Eddie's face once again.

To Waylon’s surprise, Eddie seemed unbothered by the inquiry and simply curled his tail to the side, helping him turn to sit facing his company. “Certainly.” A soft, quiet smile graced his features as he gestured to his form, “I have many, so take your pick.”

The man merely sat there for a moment, shocked at the calm, unhindered response, “Well, you have the scar on your dorsal fin.”

“Snagged by a fisherman’s hook.” He offered simply.

“And the one at the corner of your mouth?”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, “Sometimes prey fights back.”

Waylon pursed his lips at that, not entirely sure of whether or not the hybrid was joking. He shook his head a bit, exhaling a short laugh, “Okay…” He adjusted his position as well, turning in the sand to face Eddie. “What about the scar on your back?... I noticed it yesterday.”

Eddie’s grin fell at that, as did his arms, his hands falling to clasp themselves in his lap. “Ah, that one…” He nodded his head, eyes becoming distant as his gaze shifted to the sand between him and Waylon.

“Sorry,” He offered quickly, noticing the change in demeanor. “My curiosity got the best of me. Do you want to talk about something else?” Waylon’s brows knit with worry.

The hybrid’s expression darkened briefly. It wasn’t one of anger, but of intense frustration, however, he took a deep breath and shook his head, “No, no, it’s alright, darling… It’s just that,” He sighed and looked up to Waylon again, “I’m not entirely sure what happened. I was conscious through the entire ordeal, but… the memories are broken.”

“Broken, like… there are chunks missing?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was trauma… or fear.” Eddie cleared his throat and looked to his hands before returning his gaze to Waylon. “I was out hunting one morning, far, far from here. I noticed a boat just sitting on the surface of the water, which was rather normal, fishermen did it all the time, but there was no bait. No hooks either.”

Waylon let the man’s words sink into his brain, “So they weren’t fishing?”

He shook his head, “I can’t see how they could have been, you’ll catch nothing if you have nothing.” Eddie turned his head to look out at the sea before him. “Regardless, I steered clear of it for as long as my curiosity would allow and set about catching my own meal.” He sighed, “And then, because my idiocy knows no bounds, I made the mistake of pushing my luck.”

Eddie was quiet for a long moment, and Waylon let him be, not wanting to rush or force him to say anything that he didn’t want to. He just watched the man before him in silence, offering his attention as an apology for crimes that he didn’t commit.

“One moment there was nothing, just a boat of ghosts… but then there was netting wrapped around me, dragging me to the surface.” His brow furrowed again as continued, “I remember trying to claw my way out of it in a panic, but the moment I hit the fresh air, there’s a blank. The next thing I know, there’s a pressure in my back, it feels like it reaches through me, but I can hear yelling, feel someone pull on whatever instrument is buried in my skin, smell my own blood in the waves.” His breath quivered during his pauses, gaze remaining plastered to the space just before the horizon’s edge, to the depths of the ocean in the distance.

Waylon, who had refrained from interrupting up until this point, spoke up, “How did you get away?” He asked softly.

The sound of Waylon’s voice snapped him back into the present moment, and he shrugged his shoulders, “I have no idea. The last thing I remember is swimming away, like my life depended on it.” He let his shoulders lower, his posture slipping a bit, as if the pain of the memory had drained him of all of his strength. Finally, he sighed, “Damned thing felt like it bled for weeks.”

Waylon took a deep breath and pushed through the sand to sit closer to his company. It was odd to think that a few days ago, he had no idea of this man's existence, but now, he was in all of Waylon's thoughts. He had no wish to see him hurting, so he reached out slowly and rested his hand on top of Eddie's. It was a small gesture, but it held more weight than a simple ‘I’m sorry.’

“Does it still hurt at all?” Waylon inquired.

Eddie looked to their hands, stacked like stones on a hiking trail, letting a lost soul know that they were going the right way. He smiled, almost unnoticeable at first, but he shook his head, eyes closing for a moment. “No,” Eddie turned his hand over and held Waylon’s gently in his own, feeling the faded warmth in his skin under his fingertips. He raised their hands carefully and pressed a gentle, brief kiss to one of Waylon’s knuckles. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, my darling.”

Waylon could only focus on the feeling of Eddie’s lips against his skin as he watched, the rosiness of his face being masked in the cover of darkness. Thank god for that. He swallowed and nodded quickly, fighting to keep his heartbeat and breathing steady. “That’s good,” He choked out.

The hybrid took a moment, blinking a few times before he raised his other hand to cradle Waylon’s in his own, “Oh, darling, you’re freezing!”

“Am I?” It was a stupid question, but Waylon was too flustered to correct himself.

Eddie paid it no mind. Instead, he picked up the balled-up towel by Waylon’s side and dusted it off. “Come, dear, let me warm you up.” He took Waylon’s other hand as well, coaxing him closer.

Waylon wasn’t sure where exactly Eddie wanted him to move, so he helped as much as he could by scooting through the small expanse of sand between them. He bit back a protest of confusion when he felt Eddie’s hold move from his hands to his waist, but he silenced it the moment he found himself being pulled onto the hybrid’s lap with his back pressed against his chest.

His mind was blank. This was closer than they had ever been before, but Eddie made quick work of the towel, correcting it enough to wrap around his own shoulders. Then, he put his arms around Waylon, who merely melted into the warmth.

He tried to convince himself that he was only allowing himself to be so pliable because he was cold, but the hammer in his chest knew that that wasn’t true. Maybe it was the care with which Eddie regarded him, or the way my darling still rattled around Waylon’s mind, but he felt like he belonged here; it felt like he was home.

So he allowed himself to concede and rest his hands over Eddie’s, clasped in front of him like the lock on a front door, holding in the warmth of a fireplace and keeping out the cold of a blizzard.

Eddie rested his chin atop Waylon’s head carefully as the two of them watched the stars and the reflection of the moon in the ocean as if this view had been built just for the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHATS THIS??? IVE UPDATED TWICE WITHIN TWO WEEKS AFTER LIKE A YEAR OF INACTIVITY??? Wowy folks lmao, I hope y'all enjoy this edition of How Fast Can I Make a Man Fall for a Merman. Stay tuned for the next one!! <3 <3 <3
> 
> I also hope there aren't too many grammatical issues or anything lol I fixed a few things, but uhhhhh its aight


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